Forget Me Not (4 page)

Jesse shifts in his seat and then the warmth of his hand on mine is gone. I look up and I’m startled to see his brow heavy and his eyes worriedly reading my face.

"Are you married?" His voice is deep with a gravity I don't recognize.

"N-no," I stutter, confused at his sudden disconnect.

"Are you still with the father?"

"No, he left before Benjamin was born." I look down, embarrassed and vulnerable without his hand on mine. Why is this important? Did he think I was going to wait for him? Heck, I
have
waited for him.

"I'm sorry," he sighs.

He tucks hair that is no longer there behind his ear. This minor act is a huge reminder that sat before me is
my
Jesse. His appearance isn't an exact match but the foundations are there. I ache to pull him near and bury myself in his arms, but instead, I shrug and shake my head dismissively at his apology. He takes my hand in his once more, but the connection is weak. The sudden change in atmosphere has cast a silence over us that I need to break. If I only have this one night with him then I need to make the most of it.

"Let’s not waste our time being sorry. Do you want to dance?" I ask, hoping.

He shakes his head gently. "It’s not wasting time. I have a million apologies to make to you and not one of them would be wasting my time.”

Unable to digest his words, his apology, I navigate us away from the sudden shift in tension. While over-exaggerating a glance at my imaginary watch I mouth the words “time waster” and watch him smile in response.

“Fine, we’ll dance. But only to one thing." He gets up from his stool and kisses my hand before letting go. "Stay here,” he commands as he rushes to speak to the DJ.             

Kissing my hand is something so Jesse, so young Jesse. He was never big on public displays of affection, claiming that our heated moments were for our pleasure only. Kissing my hand was his little way of letting me know that he wanted to kiss my mouth, but couldn’t. He’d kiss it endlessly throughout class, or in front of my parents. I wonder whether it means the same thing now. My fingertips trace where he kissed my hand and then travel up to my lips. Imagining where he might kiss next.

I look across the room to check Emma’s still here. She’s sat with Smithy and the rest of the group at the same table I was on earlier. She’s laughing loudly and seems to be having a great time, thankfully, so I don't feel guilty for leaving her to it. She must sense my stare as she locks eyes with me and smiles questioningly, probably worried. I grin back and wave, conveying that I am more than okay, and then he’s back, standing in front of me with one hand behind him and the other hand between us both, palm up, inviting.

"Milady?" His lips touch my knuckles once more before he assists me down from the stool. He escorts me over to the dance floor just as The Calling begin our song, ‘
Wherever you will go’.

Our arms cocoon our bodies in a more suggestive variation of a dancing stance, his hand too low on my back and my hand tracing the hard contours of his shoulder. Our other hands are paired between our chests, rather than to the side. It all feels overly familiar, too intimate, but I’m too much of a sucker to stop.

His mouth is pressed lightly against my head, not exactly kissing it, but the technicalities are lost on my oversensitive body and mind. In this moment I am his. We have danced like this before, but this time, such a long time after the last, feels much more intense. This is where I am meant to be. This is what I have missed for ten years. My, how I have missed being in his arms this way, swaying gently to such a fitting song.

"You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed this, Mickey," he whispers into my ear, sending a shiver down the length of my body. I stand up straighter, trying to mask the impact that his breathy words are having on me. They’re just words, I tell myself, the kind of words whispered at these reunions because that is what is expected from past loves.

"No, I don't," I reply.

He flinches a little at my honesty. "That’s understandable, I guess. But I
have
missed you, immensely. You’re the only reason I’m here," he whispers into my ear again, probably having learnt from the effect it had on my body the last time. My reaction doesn't fail to meet his intention.

Despite my treacherous body I can’t allow my mind to accept his words. He may think he’s missed me now, while I’m in his arms, but if he had truly missed me then it would never have taken so long for him to come back. I shudder at the reminder. Do I really want to get into this now? I’ve waited so long to be back here, and if I say anything it might push him away. I bite my tongue and allow my head to rest against his shoulder.

We have danced through several songs, I’m not even sure whether they were slow songs or whether we just slow danced through House Of Pain’s
Jump Around
. I don’t care, not when he feels like this and smells so good. He smells like Jesse. Well, like a more expensive Jesse. The raw manliness of his natural scent has been enhanced with cologne of the designer kind. The effect is intoxicating.

He owns my body as his fingers stroke tantalizing circles against my lower back and his heavenly breath blesses my neck. His intentions are suddenly very clear when his mouth puckers against my skin. My body weakens in response but I’m not ready to hand myself over to him. I can’t. Not so soon.

Despite my body’s obvious need for this man I can’t forget what happened between us ten years ago. I owe it to the girl that had her heart ripped out to say no to this man. He doesn’t deserve it. Not so easily and not so soon.

I open my eyes and pull away slightly, overcome by the sudden need for separation. He fights it, stiffening his arm around my waist.  

"Don't go."

"I'm not. I-I just need to use the bathroom," I lie.

"Oh, sure. Needs must." Jesse beams, broadcasting a Hollywood smile. He lets his one arm drop from around my waist but doesn't let his other hand release mine until I’ve walked away.

I make my way to the bathroom and enter a cubicle, locking it behind me. Although I do need to go, I’m also in desperate need of space. Space that isn’t swamped with Jesse and his ability to have me forgetting everything that ever went down between us.

This is all moving way too fast. He’s been back in my life for all of two hours and I’m ready to surrender myself to him. The alcohol has clearly lessened by inhibitions. I came here expecting answers and yet a million more questions have been thrown in my face. He is being so loving and sensual, acting as though he still cares for me, but it doesn't make sense. If he had even a fraction of the feelings I have had for him, and still do, then he would have come back for me. Back then, not now.

I should go out there and tell him that he’s waited too long. That I’ve worked hard over the past ten years to forget about him. I’ve cried too many tears for our lost love and I can't do it again. I can't lock myself away in my bedroom and pine after him like I did when I was seventeen. I have a son and a job and responsibilities. I’m a woman now and I can't let myself fall so hard again.

But…

What if he wants to make a real go of things, though? Maybe he wasn't ready to settle down back then, but he is now? I guess it’s a natural reaction, I mean, who wants to be tied down at such a young age anyway? No man does. He’s twenty-eight now and maybe looking to settle.

Oh God, don't get ahead of yourself, Michaela. What if he just wants one night of passion? Maybe he was genuinely just in the area and thought he’d stop by and see what he could get. There are so many questions, but only one that needs to be answered.

Does any of this really matter?

I know I want to be with him, for whatever I can get. Should I tuck feminism, moral obligations, and pride away for the night only to wake up with them loud and condescending tomorrow morning along with a nasty hangover?

Leaving the cubicle, still none the wiser, I walk around the corner to find Emma drunkenly hunched over the basin and drinking water from the tap.

"Emma!" I rush to her side and pull her away. Moving the hair from her face I look into her bloodshot eyes and wait for a reaction.

"Hey, Mickey! I missed you!" She pouts dramatically and leans against me. I hold her waist and steady her. “Smithy bought tequila for the table.”

"Oh, no. Have you been sick?"

"Not yet!" She giggles, and shouts, into my ear.

"Maybe that's enough drink for tonight then," I suggest as we move towards the door.

"I think you're right. You're so clever Ms. Cole. Or Mrs. Jenner!" she jokes, as her laughter bellows down the corridor.

"Shh!" I scold, attempting to be serious. "Shall I help you to our room?"

"No, Mickey. I’m fine," she mumbles, before tripping over her own feet. I manage to hold onto her, but her fall has made her see sense. "Oh, okay. If you insist."

As we turn onto the dance floor I look across to where we were sat earlier, hoping to catch Jesse’s eye to let him know that I’ll be back in a moment. For what? I don’t know. But I have no such luck anyway. His attention is fully grasped by Kristen Matthews. She’s stood in front of him, much closer than she needs to be, effectively blocking my view of him. It shouldn't bother me but it does, because it's her. She’s beautiful, that obvious kind of beauty; thick blonde hair, a fantastic figure, a tan that came from a bottle rather than the Bahamas. The years have been kind to her and Jesse wouldn't be a man if he couldn't see that. She would have thought herself too good for him at school, but now they look like the perfect couple. I have no doubt that she would be more than willing to offer herself to him tonight.

My intentions are to interrupt them, but as I walk in their direction his hand reaches out and strokes the length of her arm. Oh my God. He's flirting. I was right. He’s just here for a good time and he doesn't even need for it to be with me. I feel sick. How embarrassing that I’ve dreamt up this romantic scenario for us both. My excitement has been replaced with anger and humiliation. I turn both myself and Emma away and march us towards the door, as fast as Emma and her tipsy legs can go.

Chapter 6

Emma is completely unaware of the drama playing out around her as I tuck her into bed. She falls asleep immediately and I plan on doing the exact same thing. In the confines of our room, with the adrenaline from our hasty escape leaving my body, the effects of the alcohol are more noticeable. Away from the disco lights and party atmosphere my head suddenly feels foggy.

I pour myself a glass of water from the bathroom sink and down it in one, hoping to combat the resilient alcohol still present in my body. I need to check my phone before bed so I look for my bag.

Shit. My bag…

I left it downstairs. I haven't had it since I was sat at the bar with Jesse. If it didn't have the lifeline that is my phone in it I would just leave it, but I need it.
Stupid.

Back in the elevator, I check my reflection in the surrounding mirrors. I plan on being in and out, not even stopping to talk to Jesse and
her
, but I still want to look half decent. My eyes are turning red and my lips are stained slightly pink from the red wine, but my hair is still acceptable and my make up lies intact.
Thank you, Emma!

As I enter the function room I immediately see them still talking, no doubt he hasn't even noticed that I left. I can just about make out my bag on the bar behind him. Maybe I can ask someone else to get it for me? I look around, but any friendly faces are either slouched drunkenly in their chairs or dancing madly on the dance floor. There’s not even a bartender nearby to ask. Damn it, Michaela, you’ll just have to get it yourself!

I stride towards them both and try for impassive, but I don't think either of them is fooled. Squeezing between them I snatch my bag, placing it scrappily over my shoulder. I turn briefly to Kristen and mumble a barely coherent greeting before looking at Jesse. He appears happy, his eyes bright with excitement and I wonder just what it was that I interrupted.

"Goodnight, Jesse. It was really good seeing you again."

I walk away before he has time to reply, meaning what I said. Regardless of what has happened tonight, I’m glad that I had the chance to see him. I needed closure.

Is that what I got?

My eyes prickle with pained tears as I cross the foyer to the elevator and I bite my lip in order to stop it from trembling. I so wanted it to be different, not another goodbye. This outcome would have been easier to accept if it hadn't started off so well. I can still feel the warmth from his touch and I know it’ll be a long time before it has gone cold.

As the elevator doors open, I hear quick footsteps on the marble floor behind.

"Michaela, wait!" Jesse cries.

Shit. He can't see me upset. I rush into the elevator and punch the button repeatedly until the doors begin to close, but his swift hand blocks their way.

"Wait, I said!"

He enters and stands in front of me. I look down forcing back the tears that are about to fall from my eyes. Lifting up my chin with his finger he frowns when I reluctantly make eye contact.

"You're upset? Mickey, what's wrong?"

He reaches out for my hand but I pull it away and press the button for my floor before folding my arms across my chest. He continues to stare at me expectantly, and so I force my lips to formulate a response.

"You, and her," I mutter, my embarrassment rising along with the elevator. "It’s fine, I guess I had some stupid notion that we were hitting it off again, but no. You and
her
make much more sense than you and I ever did. It’s fine. Really.” I sniff, trying desperately to hide my upset. I can't believe we’re having this conversation. Jesse hasn’t belonged to me in years, so how can I justify feeling so territorial. He doesn’t owe me anything, let alone his loyalty. 

"Are you serious? Mickey, Kristen is married. I do business with her husband." His gaze hardens and he shakes his head. "I already told you, the only reason I’m here is for you. I know I haven’t given you much reason to believe me, but please, try."

My eyes meet his again and I study them, looking for any evidence of untruth, but finding nothing. His face hardens and his stare is concentrated as his words sink in and I’m forced to believe him. I feel so stupid for making a fool out of myself, but more importantly for revealing my feelings for him. It must be obvious from my tortured face the depth to which my feelings go. The last thing I want is to show my hand so soon.

“Please don’t cry. I can’t handle it,” he whispers. Lifting his hands to cradle my face he wipes away the strands of hair that sweep above my eyes, and then the tear that has fallen from under them.

His sudden proximity is overwhelming and I have to consciously remind myself to breathe. With gentle coercion, I’m guided into the corner of the elevator and my breathing quickens in anticipation. My face is locked in his sizeable hands while his leans temptingly close. My eyes flicker closed, no longer able to face up to this man and what he does to me. Jesse’s intentions are clear and if I want no part of it then now is the time to interrupt. I want this so much, but it’s not what I need. The words are in my mouth, but as his hand travels suggestively down to the small of my back, I’m rendered mute.

Instead of telling him, I show him. It takes every ounce of willpower to deny him, but I do. Pushing gently at his rock hard chest, I turn my head away from his until he gets the message. He eases up immediately and looks at me dejectedly.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles. I shake my head in response, still unable to find my voice. “No, really. I didn’t intend on making a pass at you. It’s just, you look so fucking hot tonight, and you’re upset and I just wanted to make it better.”

With his head hanging low he runs his fingers through his cropped hair. He doesn’t think I want this. He thinks I’m denying him because I don’t want him. God, he’s so oblivious! Can’t he see my trembling? Can’t he feel the palpable heat emanating from my body?

“No, I’m sorry. I just didn’t want our reunion to be about this.”

At my confession he looks up, his eyes tight. He quickly turns away, slamming his hand over a button on the elevator controls. We halt immediately. “About what?”

I sigh, uncomfortably. “About…getting laid. I’m just a guaranteed fuck, right? The jilted ex always is.”

Aggressively, he steps closer. “Don’t you ever think like that about us. We will never be about getting laid. I won’t ever just fuck you, Mickey. We aren’t about that.”

“What
are
we about?”

“You want me to tell you or do you want me to show you?” His hooded eyes and his gravelly voice collide to create a sudden shift in demeanor. He steps closer still, until we’re nose to nose. I close my eyes, pointlessly denying what I can feel happening to my restraint. My self control dissipates completely as soon as I look back into his hungry blues.

I give up.

I can’t fight it. The ache to be with this man for whatever I can get is too strong and it’s not going to go away.

“Kiss me,” he orders and I willingly oblige, needing no further encouragement.

Fireworks
.

My hands are in his cropped hair and I push myself into him, wanting to be closer. In his kiss I find myself, I find us, reconnected and electric again. I find what I lost so many years ago and have searched for ever since. No substitute could ever compare to this. Our tongues tease, play, and dance until I’m throbbing with need for more. Chest to chest, hips to hips, our legs entwined as I feel his excitement pressed against me and rejoice in the friction it brings. Like magnets we press against each other, failing to be as close as we need to be.

Just seconds later he pulls away, leaving me breathless and weak-legged, leaning into the corner for support. He pushes a button on the wall that restarts the elevator with a jolt, and he is back within my space immediately. I guess that he must sense my fragile state, because his hands find my waist and he holds me steady. Pressing his forehead to mine he fixes me with his steely stare.

"How drunk are you?" he asks through heavy breathing, each breath mixing with my own, continuing our intimate connection. His warm breath smells just like he tastes, of mint and wine, a heady combination.

It must take me too long to answer because he lifts my chin gently, encouraging a response from my tingling lips. “Sorry…erm, not very," I lie.

“Stop wasting our time apologizing,” he says and I smile at the return of my words. “Stay with me," he commands and I intend on doing just as I am told.

"Yes," I inhale.

The feel of his lips against mine and his hands exploring my body blur the awareness of being guided into his suite. I think I hear the elevator doors open and close, and I barely notice his hand leave my thigh as he struggles to open the door, but I can’t open my eyes. I’m overwhelmed with the effect that his lips are having on me, powerless to his touch, until it’s gone. I am leant against a wall, no, a door, and Jesse has stepped back. My eyes are still closed as I try and find my breath.

“Look at me,” he says, his voice deep and insistent. I can’t. “Look at me, Mickey.” He steps closer and wraps his hand around the nape of my neck. My eyelids flutter open. Jesse’s eyes are set on mine, unwavering but pained. I reach out for him, finding fistfuls of his shirt, suddenly terrified that he’s going to stop this after I’ve finally abandoned my willpower.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, shakily.
             

He looks torn as his concentration flickers between my eyes and my mouth. “I just…I need to be sure that you know that this isn’t why I came.”

Panic rises like bile in my throat. “You don’t want to…”

“No, of course I do. But, you have to know that this wasn’t my intention. I came here just wanting to be with you, in any way I could.” He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against mine. “I didn’t set out on…this. But now, I can’t stop.” He exhales deeply, calmingly. I lift my hand to his face, stroking my thumb against the soft stubble that lines his jaw, silently begging him to look at me. He does. The intensity burns just as bright as when he closed them.

“Then don’t stop. I want this, I need this.”

There is a moment, a second of hesitation where I think that he’s changed his mind, but then I’m swooped up into his arms and carried further into the room. I can barely see a thing. In our hurry we’ve neglected to turn on any lights. Our only aid coming from the blue light of the window, be it from the street light or the moon, I don’t know. I don’t care.

We crash onto a long sofa and I find his mouth again, hungrier than it’s ever been. We are all arms, hands and fingers as we rid each other of our clothes. My dress is cast aside, along with his jacket and then his shirt and pants. I’m sat astride him in nothing but my underwear, completely exposed and yet oddly at ease. I’m momentarily thankful for the lasting effects of the alcohol for this foreign confidence. His eyes burn a path across my breasts as his fingers slip under the straps of my bra, tracing his way down to the cups. Leaning forward, he gently nuzzles where the material meets my skin and his hands glide round to the clasp on my back. He is completely devoted to me at this moment. His kisses worship me as I arch my back in appreciation. I’m melting under his manipulation and it’s overwhelming.

When he tosses my bra to the side and sits back I surrender to his unshielded stare, but I can’t watch him watch me. The alcohol will only help me so far. He tears my panties in a desperately primal act and yet I feel myself withering. My body is so different to how he would remember it. No longer effortlessly taut and athletic, I’m soft and full, slim but with curves enhanced from bringing a child into the world and stretch marks scratch at my hips. I can’t help but expect his disappointment.

“Hey,” he whispers, his hands now on either side of my neck. “Don’t look away, don’t be embarrassed.” I force myself to meet his eyes. The intensity found there is powerful, but his expression soft. “You don’t even see how incredible you are, do you? You’re so beautiful. I can’t handle how beautiful you are. Kiss me, Mickey.”

He pulls me to him and our lips collide with aggression, on my part more than his. His words have momentarily filled me with belief in my beauty and his physical response has backed them up. He wants me. I press against his excitement, desperate to feel my affects on him and he growls, hungrily. The ache in my stomach tugs heavily as his lips continue their assault on my heated skin. I’m burning up. I’m hot for him, wet for him.

My hands nestle into his slight chest hair, skimming over his hard shape and clawing lightly with an unbearable need. The blue light from the window has cast a surreal glow onto his skin, which only works to highlight the clean lines of his muscles. Clothed, it was obvious that Jesse was in good shape, but I had no idea to what extent. He’s so firm and defined. Add that to his natural broadness and he really is perfect. My fingers trace the contours of his abs, over and over again.

He releases himself from his boxers and watches me study his arousal. My memory has failed me once more. I swallow hard, taken aback by his impressiveness length and what it has the potential to do for me.

“You’re sure?” he asks, as if it were possible for me to even speak, let alone say no. My voice is lost under the sheer weight of my desire. My hands lock behind his neck and I pull him to me, finding his lips again and telling him ‘yes’ the only way I know how.